


Constrained and Strained

by quicksilverace



Series: Of Thunder And Gods (Great Comet PJO AU) [1]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: M/M, PJO AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14272281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilverace/pseuds/quicksilverace
Summary: Here's a really old pjo au!! It happens post-au when it comes to the canon.





	Constrained and Strained

Anatole shifted through the contents under his bed, placing them in the correct places. Helene insisted that they spend the winter cleaning the cabin, and since no one else was around, Anatole was forced to help. 

“Hey, Tolya!” Helene popped into view, leaning against the doorway. “Wanna take a break? Lito said he had some upgrades for you to try.”   
“No, actually. I kinda wanna clean this place up a bit more. Tell him I will in a bit, though!” 

She laughed and shook her head, picking up an old magazine from one of the boxes.   
“Yeah, I understand. See you in a bit?”   
“Yep!” 

After hearing the soft click of the door closing Anatole turned back to face the contents of under his bed. Browsing the clutter as he cleaned. Magazines, makeup, a few t-shirts, one or two books, an old schedule. He crouched further down and reached towards the wall, pulling out a small, leather-bound book. 

“What’re you?” He quizzed, flipping through the pages. It appeared to be a journal, with each entry written in a neat, calligraphy-like script. Definitely not Anatole’s handwriting.   
He caught different names as he skimmed the pages. Natasha, Sonya, Helene, Pierre, Marya, Reyna, Tanya. Even his name.   
His thumb stopped at the last page written in. The date marked neatly at the top, “10/7/14”, a year ago. 

“Dear, Anatole.” It read. “I’m hoping that you never get to read this, that I would’ve continued to be at your side ‘till death do us part. But, if you are reading this, it means that you have most likely learned of my origins. I want you to know that I feel such bitter, deep, soul-crushing regret about my actions, and that I know nothing will ever make up for it. I want you to know that you were more than just a pretty face to me, or a way to get info. You were the first person other than my family to see more than just an assassin in me. You saw me for who I actually was, a person. And I hope you felt the same way. You are my closest friend, and my unrequited love. I looked at you like one would the sun, in awe of your beauty and radiance, and warmth. I know this sounds really pretentious, maybe a bit stupid, even. And probably really cold-hearted, but it’s the truth. Please, let everyone know that I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused, and that I shouldn’t have agreed to coming over here in the first place. That I should have attempted to call off the attacks before they even were planned. If you are reading this, and it’s after the war. I’ve probably committed suicide by now, or at least tried to. Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want you to waste all of that time and energy looking for someone so terrible, and Camp Jupiter isn’t a place for anyone like you anyway. 

Forever and Truly Yours,   
Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov” 

Fyodor. His name was Fyodor, of course. Anatole grasped the page tightly, his hands shaking slightly. This bastard, this bastard, thinks that a simple apology letter can miraculously fix everything? Even after all of the damage he caused, the damage his camp caused? It was unbelievable. 

Anatole stood up, throwing the journal at the wall. If the bastard was dead, so be it. He still wanted him to have a piece of his mind. Throwing on a jacket, he began to head out the door. Only stopping to grab a yellow cloth out of a box. It was Vanya-,no, Dolokhov’s bandana. He propped his left leg up on a chair, tying it around his prosthetic, before marching out of the cabin. 

“Balaga!” He shouted at his friend. “I need a ride!”   
Balaga continued fixing up his troika, pausing for just a second.   
“To where?”   
“Camp Jupiter.”

**Author's Note:**

> The godly parents are:   
> Natasha- Hecate  
> Sonya- Demeter  
> Marya- Athena   
> Anatole- Aphrodite   
> Helene- Aphrodite  
> Ippolit- Aphrodite (descended from Apollo)   
> Fedya- Mars (Not Ares, Mars)   
> Mary- Hypnos  
> Andrey- Nemesis   
> Balaga- Hermes   
> Pierre- Dionysus


End file.
